Cold Cases
by Skye Phantomwhite
Summary: The time is Victorian Era. Reformed criminals, that was what they were. That doesn't mean they could act as heroes, however. Black Rose, an organization led by an unknown man, currently working to preserve peace in the city, even as they fight their inner demons and the past they thought they left behind. Six people, four villains, at the end, what would be the outcome?


**A/N: Nico-chan back to the domain of Vocaloid! Back again for some history thingy…**

 **Just to let you know… I never own any of these characters.**

 **Enjoy~!**

* * *

 **Chapter 1:**

' **Black Rose'**

It was in the early morning. Crowds had gathered by an alley, hands to their mouths. Scotland Yard detectives gathered by the scene with a few cluttered police officers, surveying the scene laid out in front of them. The ground was mopped with blood leaking from an open wound slashed across a man's chest who is slumped against a stone wall. His clothes were damp, and his eyes were rolled at the back of his head, as if he had been surprised. A policeman officer retracted his fingers from the man's neck and shook his head.

Dead.

The crowd scattered upon the officer's gesture, fleeing the scene of a normal civilian murdered by the back alley of a confectionery store. People passed by, trying hard to ignore what it was that they saw, going about their normal morning routines without a moment's delay. Forcefully trying to flush out the memory of an unknown man's frozen face, stricken with utter horror before he was struck permanently down. Most individuals tend to do that. They try to eliminate the things they didn't like to see or remember from the front of their thoughts. Another murder had happened with an unidentified killer that was probably on the loose.

How utterly amusing.

Watching by the far back, a girl with a pale complexion and has a pinkish toned straight hair that reached to her knees, folded her arms in front of her chest. Normal civilians gave her no more than a fleeting look before moving ahead quickly. Perhaps intimidated or perhaps wary of her presence. She was clad in, what was vastly considered as, a normal dress, with puffed up shoulders and fitting long sleeves then a skirt reaching an inch above the ground. Amongst the crowd of people, she was utterly invisible.

A new crowd had started to gather around the scene of the crime, but this time it included a flock of journalists and photographers eager to have their news printed at the tabloids. The Scotland Yard had warded them off with scowls on their faces and strong shoves, not at all eager to share their findings, or lack thereof. Must be stuck like they always are; often "asking" for help. One had bravely set up their camera, ready to shoot before an officer blocked the body and yelled, much to everyone's chagrin, that such happenings will be reported soon enough.

Carriages rattled past her vision, horses dragging it through the mostly empty streets. Nobles behind the curtained windows, sitting in luxury, in truth, had known nothing but gossips. Spreading it amongst their peers in order to inflict horror upon them, or merely for amusement. They threw money down when it concerned their safety and casually strolled by the streets without a care for others. Such was the life in London, a city basked in crimes and corruption. Each day, a new case would come piling on the desk until it was simply too many to keep track of.

The girl lowered her face, gaze leveled towards the paved streets before patting a secret pocket by her skirt, vaguely labeling the things stuffed inside. An abandoned notepad and a lone pen, itching to be used. A glance across the streets and she knew that would be pointless now. The girl, a nineteen years old with average height and had a rather pretty face, shook her head disappointingly then pushed away from the stone wall. Heels clicking, she began to walk.

Journalists were causing an uproar by the street, attracting a lot, if not all, attention of whoever was passing by. Happenings like this were easily said to be rather 'normal' or 'ordinary' for someone who grew up in London. The queen sent out a lot of officers and detectives to clear half the case rising in the city but failed to completely do so without having endangered her men's lives. Queen Victoria was a lot of things but ruthless was not one of them. Well, not completely anyway. She had compassion for the weak and for those who resigned themselves to serve her. For criminals, she was merely the predator hunting them down.

The girl kept walking, ignoring everything around her and made a sharp turn to the East End street; the poor part of the city. The hotspot of poverty. She walked through, briskly passing people who happen to be walking to the same destination. The wind blew, and along with it, smoke seemed to obscure any and all visions for a brief while. The black plumes of smoke coming out of factories made the sky seem a bit black, that the girl would think it is death itself is breathing its volatile air to the living inhabitants, who dd not mind the polluted air that they breathe. Once it cleared, the long haired girl had already slipped away unnoticed.

With brisk strides, she entered an alley, kicking away pieces of trash littered on the ground, stepping on puddles of water that pooled either by rain or by some regular occurrence of drunks partying by the same spot all night. There was a man hole ahead, one who always seem to have lost its lid, endangering anyone who wasn't paying attention, to fall through. The rancid sewage smell made her grimace, as it pales in comparison to the vast river Thames polluting its filthy, polluted waters in the Westminster Palace, where most governors work, troubled by its stench and its waters as they get busy managing the city. There were half smashed craters filled with garbage abandoned by the side as well. Nevertheless, she walked past it, shielding her face after another blow of wind made her hair sail back then promptly made it fall back down against her.

After exiting, all she saw were peasant children running along the paved streets, holding onto each other or trying to pickpocket from unsuspecting people. Wearing ragged clothes, bruised marked their faces, of many attempts to pickpocket, and being barefoot they rummaged through garbage in order to survive. It made her stomach twist. Doors were slammed shut, warding off anyone who tried to intrude upon those who were inside, doing heaven-knows-what. Privacy was of great importance, as if they don't want to be watched.

There were women clad in 'improper' attires, something considered as immoral in the upper parts of London. They were leaning against walls or hanging by where more targets were easier to reel in. Prostitutes, she thought they were. Selling out their bodies in order to make money, denying children of even the tiniest bit of help and were off having 'fun' all day and night; not caring for their own welfare and health but the cold, hard cash and coins their clients provide... money. The thing that opens the gates to almost everything, in which they afford almost anything. It was like they can never live without it. They don't want to die in the streets with a murderer still on the lose or fend off the bitter cold in their small, crowded houses. Abortion was some life-saving thing. They could not handle such responsibility of bearing an unborn child in their womb. Not that they have to be broke and have to pay for child support, but some things to provide. But it was expensive, and those kinds of women can't help it but use desperate measures.

This part of the city repulsed her.

Breathing in deeply, she ventured forth. Some children immediately approached, grinning widely from ear to ear. They clenched a fistful of her skirt, and while some grimaced at the sight, she bent down and gave off a rare smile. Reaching inside her pocket, she grabbed a certain amount of money and folded it into a ragged boy's open palms, then squeezed his shoulders and presented another smile.

Seeing it as a sign, the boy nodded briefly but not any less grateful before racing off, followed by the other children to buy food for the whole day. The girl watched them scamper off, the smile reverting into a sad one before turning away and moving forward again. She stopped by a tall, three-story building. Although it wasn't terribly run down as the rest lining the streets, the exterior didn't look as brand new either. The walls were painted a drab black color, some of it already peeling off. The door was made of smooth wood, colored lighter than the rest of the building, highlighting the insignia carved at the wooden surface.

It was a black rose, its stem curling into a circle around it and thorns sticking out. Arched atop the insignia were words written in a foreign language, covered with a bit of dust. She remembered their translation, however. Cautiously, she slid the key by the hole and twisted. It opened with a click and she entered without further delay.

The vast room stretched out in front of her. Dark oak wooden flooring, windows with velvet curtains and carpets on multiple spaces. She walked over, closing the door behind her and passed through a kitchen, where the space was terribly larger than expected. The counters were clean and the rest were neatly put away in the cupboards. The girl ignored it and exited through another doorway by the side of the room.

A wooden staircase was located by the side of a few bookshelves, a fireplace stationed a few walks away from the two plush couches facing each other, in between where a wooden coffee table was placed. Turning away from the rather comfortable setting, she climbed, gripping the banister tightly.

The second floor was filled with multiple rooms. There were shiny golden numbered plates nailed at each door, practically sparkling once the light from the opened window panes across of it hit the surface. The girl approached the last one by the end of the corridor and placed her hand on the knob.

Distant sounds and muffled voices reached her ears, coming from inside the room.

With a downward pull and a tug, the interior was revealed to her.

~{...}~

Messy, that was how to describe the room.

There, three large mahogany desks scattered around, a trash can propped by the side of it and two wooden chair behind it. There were drawers behind them, storing many different pieces of paper.

The floor was filled with rolling trash cans, some paper haphazardly left behind, a few photos turned over and a few more things. The curtain were drawn, letting light flow in, revealing just how disastrous it really was. The girl stood dumbfounded by the doorway, hand still stuck to the knob and eyeing everything. A blue haired male bent down to pick up one of the fallen pieces of parchment, revealing it to be a piece of letter sent days ago.

The male crumpled it up and threw it directly inside the can. Someone walked up beside him, gathering fallen photographs and looked up at the sound of the door creaking open.

They engaged in a rather soundless staring contest before the blue haired male gave a dry laugh.

"Sorry for the mess." he said gently, setting all that he gathered on top of a desk, the nameplate propped on top of it shifting slightly.

The other male gave her a fleeting look before quietly going back to gathering fallen pieces of photography. The girl narrowed her eyes, squinting slightly to peer at the faces imprinted on the paper. It was set face down by the same desk, warding off any more prying stare.

"What happened here?" she asked after a while, voice quiet and gentle, surveying every corner of the room with a piercing gaze.

The blue haired male shook his head and folded his arms in front of his chest as if reminiscing the happenings of earlier this morning. Soft strokes of light cascaded down upon them three, like an imaginary halo propped atop their heads.

"It's a long story," he relented with a huff.

The taller male, a skinny man in his early twenties with a patch of shameless pink hair under a fedora, gave a wry smirk "I'll explain. You see, this is what happens when a man is robbed of caffeine so early in the morning, princess. They get cranky." there was a snicker "Wasn't pretty at all."

The blue haired male gave his partner a glare. He backed away, hands held up in surrender but the corners of his lips still arching up. The girl, not amused at their antics, strolled inside and let the door click shut behind her. Her two, rather noisy, companions were wearing what could have been called 'odd' outside the office. They wore brown trench coats, underneath it was a plain black long-sleeved shirt, plain pants and boots. Nestled atop their heads were fedoras, rarely ever worn when indoors.

Sighing softly to herself, she approached a desk by a corner, gingerly picking up the clothes folded atop it and made a quick entry at the restroom at one side of the room. She faced the mirror and striking blue eyes stared back at her. Carefully reaching up, she tied her hair into a ponytail, letting it sway behind her as she changed into their uniform, clipping the pin at her coat lastly before strolling out. The room had become rather vibrant upon her return. A petite young girl with shoulder length hair had added to the number of people inside the office and behind her was a young boy with blonde hair, pristine white bandages covering his left eye.

"Office is starting soon. Get changed."

She watched as they scattered, going to different desks and grabbing the clothes folded atop it. As they swarmed the cubicle, awaiting their turns to change, she made her way to a drawer, pulling the middle one open and rummaging through it.

There was a sigh.

She set the notepad and pen formerly inside her dress pocket inside and gingerly pushed it closed. A moment later the door was slammed open, the sound startling them all and ricocheting inside the room.

"A-Apologies for my lateness!" A blonde boy was hunched by the doorway, hands on his knees as if to catch his breath. His hair was pulled into a low ponytail, blue eyes blinking as it pinned against the flooring.

The room grew silent at his abrupt apology. He grunted, pulling himself inside then closing the door behind him.

"What happened?" The pink haired male asked, standing up from his seat behind a desk by the far left side, obviously alarmed.

The young, eighteen year old boy, shook his head, pushing away the nausea brought by running all the way to East End street from the upper parts of London. Sweat trailed down the side of his head and he was heaving for breath.

"The library was busy so they wouldn't let me leave. Scotland Yard detectives are scattered all over the main road, apparently another incident happen'd again this morning. The body was dumped in an alley near East End street so many areas were cut off for investigation." he drew in a sharp breath then slammed a folder down on the nearest desk, startling the girl that stood behind it slightly "We were put on the case. We investigate tonight."

He moved away grumpily, scratching the back of his head. They watched as he grabbed the folded clothes by a desk and stood by the line.

"What does the file say?"

The girl held the files gingerly, flipping through it's contents. It was thin compared to the other cases laid at their doorstep. All it contained were photos of the victims and some tabloid clippings here and there.

"Yuma, can you examine these photos?"

The pink haired male took the offered clippings, studying them for a moment before putting it inside his coat's pocket "They're the victims found by the alleys recently. Didn't you write an article about them, IA?"

The long haired girl nodded mutely, re-reading the few bit of information jotted down inside the file.

"I remember them vaguely. Floyd Walker was found dead three days ago at the back alley of a seamstress' shop," IA tapped her fingers against mahogany "if i remember correctly, he was a drunkard that usually hits on women during one of his drunken states. No one came to pick the body up or claimed to be his relatives" she opened a few other files, revealing the man in question's personal information, skimming through a few details "yet here it states that he had a healthy relationship with someone and shared a close bond with his family. He was not found to be an orphan either."

"So is it safe to assume that they feared getting associated with someone victimized by the murder case in hopes of not getting targeted themselves, if ever?"

The blonde growled, slamming his hands down at the desk, making papers fly "They abandoned a family member just like that… they make me sick."

A hand was placed on his shoulder. It belonged to a petite girl with a hair of orange tint, hanging loosely until her chin, shaking her head slightly.

"I talked to the owner who claimed to have stayed out late to tidy up everything for the next day" silence hung over them like a thick blanket "she seemed to have heard people talking out the back door. By near midnight, screams began to come from the exact same location. Simply put it, the owner was afraid of checking or intervening."

"What a coward," the blonde boy snarled.

The short haired girl folded her arms "In this case I would say that she did the wise choice and stayed out of whatever it is that happened. If not, she would have been killed as well. The only error in judgement was not having informed the Scotland Yard immediately after."

The long haired female drummed her fingers against the desk again "The owner claimed to have heard voices, correct? What of the voices, then?"

"She was too terrified to divulge into any more details but I'll do my best to find out."

IA nodded, setting her hand gingerly upon her lap behind the mahogany desk. The former blue eyed blonde snorted at that and turned around, put off for some reason.

"Ah, wait Len, where are you-"

"Leave him be, Oliver."

The shorter blonde stopped, merely watching as his partner stormed off, out the door and out of sight all together. Golden eyes blinked before closing to take a deep breath. Oliver nodded, reminding himself of the temperamental blonde, always hotheaded upon a brand new case. He always came around before they started however.

IA turned back to the short haired girl. "ONE, can you get more information from this person?"

The short haired girl nodded, heading for the door "I'll try."

"I'll work on these pictures," Yuma excused himself, going back to sit behind his table, letting the sunlight illuminate the faces imprinted at the paper.

"I'll have the list of names done by this afternoon, at best" the blue haired male added, walking to where his partner sat, a few files in hand "it would be great if we can establish at least a few connections as lead"

IA nodded "i'll come with ONE to get more information"

"I'll lend a hand with digging up further connections of the victims with Kaito." Oliver offered, following the blue haired man to do their work.

They nodded towards each other and separated to do their given tasks. With a click, two girls had disappeared headed out, fedoras over their heads.

~{...}~

They go by many names. The detectives lurking by the shadow, criminals, aid, Scotland Yard rivals, ghosts of the night, but most prominently, they were the Black Rose. It wasn't a name as terribly popular as the Yard, but effective nonetheless. They operated under the Queen herself but was not in direct order. Anyone who was brave or desperate enough could hire their services at a certain case, one which was mostly chosen by the unknown person at the top.

They were skillful, both in their field of work and combat. Whilst some worry for one's own safety while investigating a case, they could heedlessly plunge in and still come out despite being scathed all the while. Their headquarters were located at the East End street where none dared step foot in, only those that desperately needed their service. They do things behind everyone's back, sometimes without the need to be hired.

Under normal circumstances, they were looked down upon. An organization hiding away at the darkness was bound to have a few things not all civilized people can tolerate. All of them, young or no, had been reformed criminals; saved from the life of imprisonment or death sentences.

In return, they pledged to a life of service.

They were the Black Rose underground organization, aiming for nothing but repentance.

That was why they were working, why they were breathing; their main purpose. They could hardly stop even when it mattered. In London, the city flushed with crime, they could easily blend in with their surroundings and go about their work. Whether or not they actually survive during one would hardly ever matter. That was what they were; disposable, replaceable... nothing more and nothing less.

Their organization had, under it, at least ten groups, a total of even members each. They preferred to go by partners, each designated to a certain task in a case.

That was what they were meant to do for the rest of their lives.

"I got everything."

IA looked up, unfolding her arms to look at the shorter girl. She had been leaning soundlessly against the wall, avoiding any gazes that managed to find itself glued to her for some peculiar reason. Perhaps it was the way she was dressed, or how the shadows of her fedora cascaded upon her face, or how certain they were that she was a girl. Nevertheless, a look upon the black rose pinned against her coat would ward off any more prying, although it did warrant some skeptic glances from the nearby Yard detectives.

"She told you everything?"

ONE nodded, watching as the older girl detached herself from the wall and walked away. It took approximately an hour and a half to ground information out of the terrified seamstress who seemed to have been on the verge of collapsing. This made her genuinely wonder, after all, she was merely questioning. There was not even a hint of a threat in her voice as she went through procedures. All the while, through the glass of the shop's window, IA had been standing across the street, merely observing as everyone passed by.

They were London's observers, only acting when the call came for it. If not, there was no need to wear their pins and go around collecting valuable information. Until they were needed, they would stay away from civilization. Black Rose detectives did lead lives, however, no matter how false it was. They had alternate lives outside of their jobs, mingling amongst their peers who seemed to grow terrified once they slipped on their uniforms.

Most of the time, they were merely normal civilians. Their status as reformed criminals were hidden and locked away- reserved for their detective counterparts for most of the time.

"It appears that the victim three days ago had been with a woman."

A woman. The victim Floyd Walker had been the first to be victimized after which was a woman they had known as an apprentice to a seamstress that served under the queen, generally making her gowns on occasions.

Her name was Katherine and not much was known from her except the basic information and the fact that she had been dumped by a riverside after a slash to her chest, like all the victims, nowadays.

Floyd Walker who had always been known as a womanizer, was with a woman the night he was murdered. Walker who had a relationship with someone before the incident ever occurred- a someone who was never found or heard from before or after his murder.

"ONE," IA called, interrupting the silence that stretched over them upon reaching the office.

"Tonight, at ten," the young seventeen year old girl nodded before pushing the door open.

They viewed the room, everyone inside still going about their usual works. Yuma still hunched over the desk, Kaito and Oliver flipping through countless files and even Len who had formerly stormed off was buried in work. They were diligently trying to break down information.

For a bunch of reformed criminals, they were hard workers. IA faced her team and gave a rare smile.

Not all criminals were bad, especially if they were ones who did all the dirty work just to keep citizens safe.

After all, not everything was as it seemed.

That didn't mean they were safe to be around either, however. No matter what they seem to do, people will always view them as the same. For everyone's safety, that was the best precaution available.

"Alright, we've got the information. Walker was with a woman the night he was murdered, at the back alley of a seamstress' shop. He had been reported to be sighted countless times past curfew." she recited, placing hand on the table "this had only been going on for at least five days more or less before his murder"

"So, someone set him up?"

"It could be possible, although his intentions from the start were never clear..."

A woman at night with a drunkard womanizer who was in a relationship with someone else the night before his murder- sounded rather dodgy to them.

"Alright! So, what time do we head out?" Len asked eagerly, brows furrowed in concentration betraying his tone of voice.

"Tonight at sharp ten o'clock" ONE answered quietly.

"And the location?"

Everything was silent.

"In the East End alleyways."

Silence dragged on.

"Why the East End alleyways? Everyone knows better than to go here, especially at night."

 _ **Tap. Tap. Tap.**_

Rhythmical drumming echoed inside the silent room.

"Because that's where a lot of prostitutes wander at night- we catch the fiend before it commits the deed!"

Silence.

The Black Rose organization may have been replaceable, easily forgettable in time after their disappearance but one thing was for certain. That despite being treated as a threat and criminals, they loved London and would do their best to rid it of crime no matter how wishful it may sometimes seem.

But as long as they stayed in their field of work, the past was bound to spring up once or twice, hindering their progress.

They were the Black Rose organization detectives and they were undeniably good at their job.

That part will undoubtedly never change.

"Roger."

It was time to act.

In the dark of the night, they'll leave behind a single rose in their wake.


End file.
